


Always The Spare

by Carcy



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carcy/pseuds/Carcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for missisjoker's prompt on the hobbit kinkmeme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=12870077#t12870077</p><p>Fili is heir and so he is favorite in his own right, all best is given to him, education, food, attention- everything. Kili on the other hand is expected to be a "protector" and a man-shield for his older brother, protecting the heir of Durin by sword and body.</p><p>Kili is struggling with that, plus he craves love and attention that no one gives him since they don't think he will survive long enough. He is "broken", doesn't laugh, doesn't joke- a shadow of himself, bound to fulfill his duty and nothing else.</p><p>Until one day Fili slithers into his bed chamber. Kili thinks that this is one of his many duties to the heir - and prepares to give Fili what he wants, even if it makes him sick- but Fili is horrified that his baby brother could think so low of him.<br/>Turns out Fili loves Kili most of all and is devastated by how Kili is treated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always The Spare

**Author's Note:**

> OP, I finally managed to locate the emo muse! but I think I might have tipped the scales in the other direction and it may not be as happy as you wanted lol. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

You were always the ideal. The golden child, the heir, hope and prayer of the line of Durin. But me, I was always the stray, the wild one, the surplus. And she loved you more than me – or perhaps she never loved me at all. I’ve sifted through my memories and you know, I have no recollection of her ever saying those words to me. Did you know that, brother?

 

_Did you know how I hated you for it?_

 

And yet I love you. Mahal forgive me, but I love you and it is sick and twisted and wrong in every way possible, like myself. It must be my fate. Perhaps you would be better off without me, but they still need a spare, don’t they? A backup, just in case – but I won’t think of it. Yet oddly enough, the thought of being the only one left, the one receiving all the attention and praises heaped on you – well, it makes me smile. The idea is so alluring that I can almost overlook the fact that you would be dead.

 

_My God, can I still have the audacity to claim I love you?_

 

My sharpest childhood memory is of the long winter. Do you remember it? Summer storms swept through the fields that year, destroying the crops, and we were so very hungry. At least I know I was. I think mother might have been, too, but she never spoke of it, only piled your plate higher and higher as I lingered in the shadows watching, for she did not want me at the table. It didn’t surprise me that you failed to grasp – _you self-absorbed bastard!-_ how famished I was. I didn’t even have the energy to hate you or mother or uncle; I was too tired. You were too busy with your training and your lessons to notice. It was only when I was so exhausted I could barely drag myself out of bed that you realised.

 

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry like that before._

 

Older than me you may be, but you knew less of the world than I did then, and perhaps even now, child of favour! But then you started giving half your meals to me, and when mother objected, you refused to eat anything unless I did too. You went round the village and begged everyone you met to give you work so you could feed your baby brother. How angry mother was! And if uncle had not been away seeking employment, you would have faced his wrath as well. But you proved that you, at least, thought more of me than your pride.

 

_It was then I realised I loved you._

 

We used to undergo weapons training together. Do you still remember? Round after round in our makeshift arena, the metallic clanging of steel on steel, the stench of sweat, and Dwalin’s barked orders louder than all the rest put together.

 

You only ever had half-day training sessions, I recall. In the morning, you were expected to be with Balin, learning history, geography, diplomacy and politics – everything the future King under the Mountain ought to know. That is probably the only thing I don’t envy you, brother. I never learnt things like that. Thorin deemed it unnecessary, for I am only the spare, and there are better uses for me. Weapons became my life from that point. Attack, step, defend, step step. I’d never thought much about weapons beyond just picking them up and hacking at orcs as best as I can, so I’m glad to have had his instruction. I’m sure it saved both our lives many times over in the days that followed.

 

Do you know what else he taught me? That it is my role first and foremost to ensure your safety. Tradition and the laws of Erebor dictate it. “That’s what it means to be right hand to the King,” he explained. I suppose he knows what he’s talking about; after all he’s been by Thorin’s side for years. He helped me accept the harsh truth:

 

_Your life is more important than mine._

It took me years, but one day during the quest, I plucked up the courage to ask Dwalin why mother treats me the way she does, so differently from you. He hesitated, a strange expression flickering in his eyes. It took a moment for me to realised it was pity. “Lady Dis has not been the same since her husband died,” he told me quietly. “If you had known her before– she was glorious! More beautiful than all the jewels of the mine, and as strong and spirited a lass as I ever did see. But the loss of her parents, her brother Frerin and her home wounded her deeply. Then she met your father, and all was well again – for a time. When the sad news of his death came, she sank into bleak thoughts and darkness. She has never recovered since. But your brother looks like him – that is why she dotes on him. Forgive her, Kili, for she is no longer herself.”

_What was I supposed to make of that?_

 

Then came the final battle. You must remember the aftermath of it, mustn’t you? Or perhaps not, you were unconscious for much of it, but you fought well and bravely. Your deeds are honoured in every tale and song of the Battle of the Five Armies, as they now call it. The trouble with tales is that they tend to gloss over injuries and near-fatalities, the desperation and fear in the healing wards after the great battles have been fought.

 

We were huddled around your bed when the healers left. That’s when Thorin turned to me, cold and assessing. “You stand before me whole and unharmed, while your brother is sorely hurt. That should have been you. You have failed in your duty.” His words were spikes of steel being hammered into my heart. And mother? She had eyes only for you. The entire conversation passed her by like the wind whispering in the trees.

 

_It should have been me._

 

Do you have any idea how that felt? I’ll tell you – like a knife in my gut, not just a clean stab, but twisting viciously deeper and deeper into me, burning me, until I was close to blacking out just to escape it. I did my best, brother, I truly did. I would have died for you that day. But they were so many, they had us surrounded, and I was out of arrows. I warned you to stay back and let me shield you, but, stubborn as you are, you would have none of it. You had to rush out in a blaze of glory, weaving those damn twin swords of yours into a deadly dance. I wanted to throttle you myself! But it was glorious to watch, at least right up to the point you were struck down.

 

When Thorin and mother retired to rest, I stayed with you. Even now I’m still not sure whether that was because I was worried about you, or because I wanted to get away from them.

 

At any rate, I was there when you started to stir. You blinked at me a couple of times. When you recognised me, your eyes brightened despite the haze of drugs you were under. You reached for my hand, murmuring my name. And I don’t know why, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to caress your bright hair, drop a kiss on your forehead and tell you to go back to sleep. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I was so relieved, I cried.

 

_Perhaps I did stay for you, after all._

 

Later, when you woke up properly, you thanked me for staying with you. “Thorin would be ashamed if he knew this. I’m his heir. I’m supposed to be strong. But – I don’t like being alone when I’m ill,” you admitted.

 

I wanted to laugh. Not because of what you said but because of the ridiculously high expectations you have of yourself. But of course I didn’t; the humiliation in your voice was too real for that. You were being serious, and I knew somehow that doing that would have shattered your confidence. I didn’t want to hurt you. I could never hurt you. But at the same time, I was so angry I wanted to rip the bandages off and spit on your wounds.

 

Why did you rush out in front of me? Did you not know that your actions shamed me? For it is my duty to stand before you, and it was a matter of honour. You disgraced me by taking that from me.

 

When I asked you this, you stared at me uncertainly. Chagrin pooled behind your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, and your voice was so weak that I felt ashamed to have brought this up at all. “I couldn’t simply stand there and wait, I had to do something. I had to protect you.”

 

I could not understand you. It is not your duty; why would you feel such a need?

 

You answered my unspoken question with your next words. “I could not bear to lose you, brother. I love you.”

 

I may never hear it from mother, but I have heard it from you, and it is enough.

 

And yet- when you were safely asleep again, I thought of Thorin and his acrid words, and the tide of guilt rose higher and higher until it threatened to consume me.

 

_I swore I would not fail you a second time._

 

From then on I wasn’t just Kili the rebel, the troublemaker, anymore. It took me a while – you shouldn’t have been surprised, you tease me all the time for having the brains of an orc!- but I finally understood my place. I knew my duty, and I focused on doing it. I practised sparring until I managed to pound Dwalin into the ground (although I think he might simply have tripped). I sharpened my swordplay so much that I managed to disarm our uncle Thorin himself. Every spare second, I spent on my archery. All in all, I became the perfect haughty, reserved second prince.

 

I could’ve sworn that was supposed to make people _happy_. That’s what everyone has been nagging me about for the past – well, my entire life, right? But no, all I got were bewildered sideways glances and muffled insinuations, even from mother and Thorin. And you – you were more lost than any of them.

 

“Kili, why do you no longer smile as you used to? What is it that weighs on your mind, brother? Please trust me, confide in me, so that I may help lighten your burden.”

 

_The pleading in your eyes nearly broke me._

 

That night, I was close to sleep when you slipped into my bedchambers - into my bed. It was nearing the full moon, and its silvery light glinted on your loose hair, on your simple tunic and leggings, but no weapons. It was clear that you had undressed for the night; that was my first warning sign.

 

You reached out a hand, and stroked the tangled mess of my hair – the second sign. Every inch of my body tightened and tensed, and I knew you must have felt it. Instead of stopping, you pressed a light kiss to my forehead.

 

I felt like throwing up. So this was what I had been reduced to? Clandestine meetings, kisses in the dark, the satisfaction of being nothing but a tool for the enjoyment of my lord and future king. The noble duty of the spare heir of Durin.

 

So be it.

_I will not fail again._

 

I rose swiftly, and began removing the layers of my clothing. You cannot imagine my surprise –or perhaps I cannot imagine yours- when you shot up in bed, mouth gaping, waving your hands frantically at me. In hindsight, I suppose you wanted to speak, but had misplaced your voice. You recovered fairly quickly, however. Eyes averted –come now, was I _that_ ugly to look at?- you bit out, “Kili! What in Mahal’s mighty name are you doing? Get some clothes on, you shameless hussy!”

 

I did, gratefully, but my face must have shown my confusion. “Is that not what you wanted? Take it, take me - it is your right.”

 

You looked at me distractedly, raking a hand through your hair. “What on earth are you talking about, brother? Take you, like this? Do you think so little of me, of my love for you?”

 

The pain in your voice pulled me up short. I could not speak, only listen.

 

“I cannot deny that I desire you. But I would never touch you unless you truly wished it – arcane traditions be damned!”

 

You crossed the distance between us in two strides and caught my hands in yours, pressing your lips to them briefly.

 

“You mean more to me than anything else in this world, Kili. If you wish it, we can leave this place, just you and I. Forget Erebor, forget everyone else. If you could love me-“ and to my horror, your voice wavered and cracked, and you had to look down at the floor.

 

I can’t handle this right now. I’m sorry, brother. I love you, yes –how could I not?- for your sweetness and kindness and stubborn loyalty, but I also hate you, because you are the privileged heir who stole my life and my family from me without knowing it. I wonder whether Frerin felt the way I do, before he died? Probably not, for I doubt Thorin was ever as gentle and affectionate to him as you are to me. It’s not in his nature. Or if it was, the dragon exorcised it from him.

 

You are still waiting.

 

“You have to leave, Fili.” My voice is quiet and sad, even to my own ears. “Please.”

 

_The look on your face still haunts me._

 

Life changes drastically after that. I focus on my own duties, and scarcely see you at all. I hear from Balin and Dwalin that you too are busy, but that, I already expected. I ignore all your attempts to speak to me, and when you come near me at mealtimes, I move a few seats away. Bofur often comes to me, pleads with me. He says you are unhappy. So am I, brother, but I’ve long since given up on doing anything about that. It is my doom. I’m just sorry you got caught up in it. You deserve better. You deserve someone who isn’t torn and corrupt in his own mind, who can and will love you with his whole heart.

_I have to stay away, because I love you._

 

And so the weeks pass.

 

Balin tells me you are unwell. He says you have been ordered to rest, and are confined to your chambers. A memory flashes before me - _I don’t like being alone when I’m ill_ \- and before I know what I’m doing, I catch myself at your door, entering after a single perfunctory knock.

 

The room is warm, but nonetheless your pile of coverings is so high I only just manage to spot you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips chapped, and your forehead is hot to my touch. You sleep deeply, without a hint of recognition that I am here.

 

Just then, a sound comes from the door. I spin round like lightning, one hand automatically reaching for my sword, but relax when I see it is only our uncle. He nods to me, and we both sit in silence by your bedside.

 

“He misses you,” Thorin says at last.

 

“And I him,” I say simply.

 

“Your rejection of his love- it destroyed him.” Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that Thorin knows. He says it as a fact, neither approvingly nor disapprovingly, but his words spark the constant fury inside me.

 

“Who are you to judge me? What about the years I spent playing a poor second to Fili, being rejected by you and my mother? Never once being told that you love me, believing that my life is something that may be sacrificed easily at any time? How do you think that made me feel?”

 

Thorin’s mouth is agape, but I am too caught up in my rant to stop.

 

“Perhaps you should take a good hard look at your own behaviour before lecturing me on mine!”

 

The sudden burst of flame inside me dies as suddenly as it came, and I fall silent abruptly. Thorin shakes his head slowly, looking as shocked as if I had physically struck him.

 

“Oh Kili, Kili, my sister-son,” he whispers. “What have I done – what have I let you grow up believing?”

 

You stir then, coughing, and we both fall silent. I lean over and rub your chest, trying to soothe you. Your eyes shoot open and widen as they fix on me. Amazement dawns in them, and you catch my hand tightly.

 

“Kili?” Your voice is raspy and hoarse from coughing.

 

“I’m here,” I say by way of answer.

 

“You’re here,” you echo, and the relief and sheer happiness in your words makes me want to hold you close and never let you go. Apparently you feel the same, for you squeeze my hand tighter even as your eyelids begin to droop. “Don’t ever leave again, please.” It comes out as a garbled mess, but I understand you.

 

“I will be here when you wake,” is all I can promise, but it seems to satisfy you, and you drift off again into a healing sleep.

 

I chance a glance at Thorin. His eyes are unreadable as he rises to his feet. “Come to my quarters tonight, Kili. I believe it is time we spoke.” It is a command.

 

I nod reluctantly. “Yes, my lord.”

What choice do I have?

 

That night after the evening meal, I head to Thorin’s quarters. It probably sounds incredible to you, but for me this is my first time here. Thorin does not waste time with niceties. Once we are seated comfortably, he gets straight into it, which I appreciate.

 

“Bear with me, Kili. You may not understand why I am telling you this now, but you will soon. Have you ever heard anyone speak of your uncle Frerin?”

 

The name seems to leave his tongue with some difficulty. I shake my head. Apart from the name, I know nothing about my other uncle. It’s not as though my life to date has been filled with loving relatives wanting to bore me with stories.

 

“Very well. My brother Frerin was five years younger than I, and we grew up together, in much the same manner as you and Fili. Even more so than you, however, we grew in the shadow of the old traditions, for we lived in Erebor at the height of her glory.”

 

Thorin pauses, his eyes far away.

 

“He was very much like you. Brash, courageous, warm-hearted and wild.”

 

“You loved him.” I can hear it in his tone, and it surprises me almost as much as the indirect compliments I have just received. I thought Thorin incapable of loving anyone.

 

A soft sad smile plays on Thorin’s lips. “Aye, I loved him. More than all the gold of the mountain, more than the greatest works of my hand. And he loved me. We lived in a perfect circle, our lives complete and whole in each other and ourselves. We needed nothing else.”

 

It is strange hearing uncle Thorin speak of love, with that dreamy look on his face. It makes him seem almost human. “What happened?” I prompt him. “Was it the dragon?”

 

A dark, angry shadow sweeps across his face. “No. We lost a great deal when the creature came, but not each other. Even though everything else changed, we were still together. I was certain everything would be all right.”

 

 _Something_ lifts the corner of his mouth, but it is far too bitter to be called a smile; it is a mockery of one. “Then the order came to retake Khazad-dûm. I went, and he followed. I begged him not to. He was too young, younger even than you and Fili were on the quest, and less experienced. But he would not be gainsaid; he wished to go where I did.”

 

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “My father allowed it, though he should not have. Frerin was not ready. I was angry, and I behaved foolishly. I refused to fight by his side. I told him that if he wished to indulge in this madness, he would do it without my help.”

 

The shutters that always conceal Thorin’s emotions slip, and I catch a glimpse of a tormented soul burning in hellfire.

 

“Those were the last words I ever spoke to him. When I saw him again, he was covered in gore, skewered through like a hunted animal. I came too late.”

 

The tale chills me to the pit of my stomach. A little awkwardly, I place a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, uncle.”

 

Thorin starts, as though he has forgotten I am there. He attempts to smile at me but it is a grimace. “I have never spoken of it before, even to your mother. But you have a right to know, though you do not understand why yet.”

 

He picks up a sheet of parchment that has been lying on the side-table, and hands it to me. “That is a sketch of Frerin, though perhaps you will see another in his image.”

 

I take one look at the drawing and feel my jaw drop open. It is me- or at least at first glance. When I study the image in more detail, I detect subtle differences. He has even less beard than me, for one, and I didn’t think that was possible. Even his stubble is barely there. His hair is braided back, unlike mine, his jawline is slightly less angular, and he is portrayed carrying a war-hammer rather than a bow. But the similarity is certainly there.

 

I look back up at Thorin, questioning.

 

“It seems we of the line of Durin are cursed to lose that which we love best,” he muses. “Whether it is a jewel, as your great-grandfather Thror did, or a person, as your mother and I did.”

 

His voice becomes mocking, though I realise it is directed towards himself, not me. “But we reacted differently. Your mother loves your brother, because he reminds her of her lost husband, and she can live on in memory. But I - I turned away from you, shunned you, because I could not bear to be reminded. I refused to allow myself to love you as an uncle should, for I could not have stood to lose you. I have allowed myself the luxury of hiding behind the old traditions, but I swear to you, Kili, that will end here.”

 

He swallows. “You and Fili are my world. I love you and always have, both of you, neither more than the other. I have treated you shamefully. I do not expect you to forgive me, but I needed you to understand. Hate me for my weakness, but do not punish yourself and your brother for it, for he loves you even more than you know.”

 

The years of hurt and confusion and pain are swirling inside me, turning into a violent vortex. Nevertheless, the truth brings with it a strange relief. I cannot pretend that everything will be perfect all at once; the cuts run too deep for that. But I understand. After all, that could easily have been me. Indeed, that was me – so blinded by the lacerations of the past that I could not allow myself to love you the way I want to. But no longer. Now that I finally understand, the heaviness that has always been in my heart lifts, I can begin to let go.

 

“I don’t hate you,” I tell Thorin as I rise hurriedly. “I cannot pretend everything will be fine right away, but it can be rebuilt.”

 

In that moment, the only thing on my mind is you. I fly back down the hallways and burst through your doors like a hurricane. Dwalin is there, but he takes one look at me and makes a hasty retreat, muttering some excuse. You are asleep, but, inconsiderate idiot that I am, I leap into your bed and shake you awake.

 

_I cannot wait any longer. I feel as though I have been waiting forever._

 

“I love you,” I gasp before the courage Thorin praised me for leaves me. “By Mahal, I love you. I’ve been such a fool, Fili! I hated you, because you are the heir and not me- because everyone I care about loves you and not me. And yet I couldn’t help loving you at the same time. I was so confused!”

 

You blink at me in sleepy confusion. “Sorry – what? Kili, I’ve only just woken up, allow me a second to get my brain working, will you?”

 

I laugh. I have not done so for so long that the sound seems foreign to my ears now. “All right then, you lazy orc. Ten seconds. ”

 

I count ten seconds. One… two… dammit, I’m skipping straight to ten. I lean closer and plant a kiss squarely on your mouth. It’s not a perfect kiss, by any means. Your lips are still chapped and cracked, your face still slightly warm from the fever, and your brow slightly damp. But it’s perfect nevertheless, because you respond, and because it’s you. Time seems to have lost all meaning.

 

_I am becoming maudlin. But I don’t give a damn, because it’s you._

 

You smile at me, that brilliant, wide, happy grin of yours that I have missed these past months. I know you understand what I am trying to convey.

 

“You’ll probably come down with whatever it is I’m having,” you tell me cheerfully. “Maybe then you’ll think twice about jumping on me like that.”

 

I shift even closer, wrapping my arms tightly around you. “Just another way of shielding you,” I shrug.

 

You push me away, glaring at me with real heat as you struggle into a sitting position. “Will you shut up about that stupid tradition already? The only person who really cares about that is you!”

 

“Me, and legions of Dwarven elders both here and in the Iron Hills. Or have you conveniently forgotten them?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten, I just don’t give a damn about them, and neither should you! You’re everything to me, Kili. What can I do to make you believe it? It’s not too late, we can still run away from Erebor if you want.”

 

I snort. “With you like this? You’d collapse before we got out the door.” My fingers brush your face lightly. “Look, don’t get yourself so upset, will you? If you get worse, Oin will have my head on a roasting pit.”

 

“Sometimes I want to strangle you,” you grumble as you sag against me.

 

“I love you too, idiot.”

 

The mood changes abruptly as you turn to face me.

 

“I love you,” you say, and just then I’m not sure whether you’re saying it back to me, or just echoing my words. “I can’t even tell you how much. I always have. And I’m sorry, so sorry, for everything that’s happened, for the way you’ve been treated, everything. I would rip all those memories to shreds if I could.”

 

I consider our past, every incident and conversation that has made us who we are today. I think of you, how you’ve been there every step of the way, so interwoven with everything else that I can no longer tell apart the sad and happy memories. I shake my head slowly. “No, let them be. They are what they are; nothing can change them now. It’s time to move on and accept it.” I wink at you, a huge, mean grin spreading across my face. “Besides, if neither of us remember, I wouldn’t be able to make you pay for it for the rest of your life, would I?”

 

You chuckle, but the sound of it is slightly wistful. “You’ve grown up so much, little brother.”

 

“Hurry up and recover, and I’ll show you exactly how much I’ve grown,” I say suggestively.

 

The mere thought of it floods your face bright red, and you duck your head like a blushing virgin. “I don’t- I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of experience, brother. Do you?”

 

I laugh. “No, but I have enough. This is one area in which I can assure you, I am _nobody’s_ spare.”

 

You roll your eyes at me, but you can’t quite hide the smile on your lips. I envelop you in my arms, so tightly that I’m sure in a minute you’ll be complaining that you can’t breathe, and I’ll have to loosen my grip. But in the meantime, I swear by Mahal and Eru and every other higher power in Middle Earth that I am never, ever letting you go again.

 

_You are my world now._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I apologize for any awkward bits; this is a bit of an experiment for me with writing in second person POV, so I'd love to know whether you felt it worked or not. Please let me know what you think!


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